


What I Have Made for Thee

by StarSpray



Series: Wisdom of the Evening Star [29]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, gapfiller, legendarium ladies april
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 22:22:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6489646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarSpray/pseuds/StarSpray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>And when Aragorn was abroad from afar Arwen watched him in thought; and in hope she made for him a great and kingly standard, such as only one might display who claimed the lordship of the Númenóreans and the inheritance of Elendil.</i><br/>- The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen</p>
            </blockquote>





	What I Have Made for Thee

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Legendarium Ladies April prompt "Estel Anim."  
> Title from Arwen's message to Aragorn as delivered by Halbarad in _The Return of the King_.

Dark was the Shadow, and every day it grew stronger while Arwen sat in Rivendell, unable to do anything but lend quiet support to Estel, wherever he was. She was not Lúthien, with the ability to bring towers to rubble and the Valar to heel with only the power of her voice. But she was yet Melian’s granddaughter, and had power enough even without Galadriel’s mirror or a Ring of Power to cast her thoughts out into the Wilds and watch over Estel as he strode through the wide world, every step bringing him closer to danger, but also closer to the future they had spoken of and planned together in Lothlórien.

She could not be with him on those journeys, but she could prepare for the day he declared himself once and for all Aragorn Arathorn’s son, heir of Elendil and of Númenor.

She spun the thread and dyed it herself, refusing all help. And she spent hours with half a dozen Dwarves invited from Erebor, choosing the finest of the white gems they had brought for her alongside thread spun of gold and mithril. They were wary of her at first, but by dinnertime she had managed to charm even the grumpiest of them.

Progress was slow, but steadily the standard progressed, white and silver thread a stark contrast to the black beneath her fingers as they flew over the loom.

No one learned of her project until Estel returned to Imladris the summer after Gilraen died. Arwen had visited her a few weeks before her passing, and given her a small swatch of dark cloth on which she had embroidered, using silver beads instead of gems for the stars, a smaller version of the standard she was preparing for Estel. It had made Gilraen smile. “I wish I could see it, the proper thing.”

“You will, when it is done! It will fly above the towers of Annúminas rebuilt.” Arwen could easily imagine it—echoes of the old city behind the new, gleaming buildings, banners of all colors flapping in the breeze. Smaller, perhaps, than it once was, but with room to grow.

But Gilraen had shaken her head. “We both know that isn’t true. I will not linger much longer in the face of the darkness encroaching upon us all. You may see a light beyond it, but it is not for me.”

Now Arwen lay in the grass with Estel, his head pillowed on her lap, listening to bluebirds in the trees and watching the clouds pass over the mountains overhead. His grief covered him like a heavy cloak. Arwen ran her fingers through his hair, catching on tangles as he dozed, dark circles like bruises beneath his eyes.

“The Shadow is growing,” he murmured without opening his eyes.

“But there is a light beyond it,” Arwen replied. She tugged on a lock of his hair, and he looked up at her. “Come with me. There is something I want you to see.”

They walked hand in hand back to the house, and to Arwen’s private workroom. The standard stretched before them, half finished. Estel stared at it for a long time, his expression unreadable. “The Shadow is growing in strength, but so are you,” Arwen said. “The time is fast approaching when Aragorn Arathorn’s son Elendil’s heir will claim his birthright.”

Estel looked at her, then, and his smile stole decades from his face. “With your hope I will hope,” he said.

 

Arwen continued her work in secret until the standard was done, and then all she could do was watch as the days grew darker. The One Ring came to Imladris and departed again, in the possession of the Halfling Frodo; his simple wide-eyed courage, and the deep-rooted loyalty of his companions, gave Arwen hope anew for the future, even amid all the doubts and quiet desperation that accompanied the Fellowship on their Quest.

 

Then at last, as winter began to fade, the Grey Company gathered in Rivendell. Even in her father’s sheltered valley they could feel the tension in the air as the world prepared for war, and no merry _tra la lally_ could ease it. As Gil-Estel shimmered in the gloaming before daybreak, she called Halbarad to her. “This has been long in the making,” she told him. “As Aragorn’s kinsman, I entrust it to you, for I know you will be at his side in the great battles to come.” Heart pounding, she unfurled the banner, setting the gems glittering like stars, and the mithril and gold thread shimmering faintly in the lamplight. A light kindled in Halbarad’s keen grey eyes, and he bowed deeply before it—and her.

Arwen stood beside her father and watched Halbarad, the standard furled tightly about its tall staff, lead the Grey Company away to the south, racing against time and the tide of war to Aragorn’s side.

_Fare well, my Elfstone! May our hope cometh._


End file.
